


Rather a Bullet Through the Head

by AmateurScribes



Series: Whumptober 2019 [5]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Breaking and Entering, Creepy Temple, Death Threats, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Prompt Fic, Whumptober 2019, gunpoint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 20:36:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20913743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmateurScribes/pseuds/AmateurScribes
Summary: It's almost a given that Grif's gotten used to people pointing their guns at him. There's been: Sarge, multiple and casual instances of the other Reds and Blues doing it- all in jest, of course, various villains, Temple...Templeagain.





	Rather a Bullet Through the Head

**Author's Note:**

> I felt really bad but when I saw this prompt I was kinda like, well this is rather tame and boring- because this is such a common thing in the show. I figured I should just redo that scene with Temple in season 15, I but I wanted to do something outside of prior seasons. 
> 
> So I came up with this!
> 
> For the duration of this event, all mistakes are my own.

After all the shit they went through involving time travel, they figured that they might as well all settle down on Chorus. It was only logical, they were  _ already _ planetside visiting Wash in the hospital.

Plus, Grey really advised them that it wouldn't be a good idea to move Wash far away from medical assistance, so Iris wasn't an option- to which Grif sighs in relief over that, glad that he wouldn't need to explain his sudden aversion to the moon.

But they really don't have all that much money, considering how much they blew on that water park that  _ someone- _ not naming names since the person in question wasn't around to defend himself, stupid self-discovery bullshit, Grif figured that he'd come crawling back soon, the world beyond the Reds and Blues were boring as fuck- burned that down.

They're really lucky that Kimball is cool enough with paying for their stay at an apartment building until they're all able to support themselves and pay rent. And because old habits die hard, they all just naturally partner up for the rooms.

And because nobody would expect anything less Grif and Simmons share an apartment.

There are two twin-sized beds, and in between them lies the lamp for the room, seated on top of a nightstand.

Normally, on a good day, they'd stay up all night long, watching movies in the living room or participating in 'pillow talk' from their  _ separate _ beds, but Simmons had been stressed about a job interview he had the next day.

"I just want to do well!" he complained, throwing his hands up in the air as his back rested against the headrest. "It's- ugh, I have the qualification for the job, but I don't want them to hire me just because I'm one of the people that helped save this planet!"

Grif has his eyes closed, and his hands laying peacefully against his chest, but he's still listening to the nerds ranting.

"So? I don't know why you're stressing so much about this," he opens one eye to peer at him on the other side of the room. "You're smart, you have the degree, what more could they want?"

"I don't know," Simmons sighed, taking off his glasses. "It's just-  _ Caboose _ already has a job.  _ Caboose." _

"Hey- the dude went to Harvard, give him more credit," Grif jokes.

"You know that's not what I was implicating," the red-head snapped. 

"I know, I know," Grif shifts to get into a more comfortable position. "Though you gotta admit, construction work is exactly right up his alley."

"And he's got that side job that he's supposed to be doing tomorrow too," Simmons mutters. "It's just hard to believe that out of all of us he's the only one really employed."

"Let the man play with his machines, while you focus on landing that- what was it again, accounting? Yeah, just try to get the job, bring in the big bucks, while I get to be a stay at home husband," he said.

"Like hell I'm going to let you freeload and make me pay all the rent," Simmons scowled at him.

Chuckling, he opens both eyes to give him a goofy grin, "It's tempting and you know it. Imagine: you get home from a long day at work, you open the door to the apartment and immediately the smell of a warm cooked meal wafts through the air. Not only do you get to see me, but you don't have to eat all alone."

"Really? You'd cook for me?" he looked skeptical, but given the way that he rose in his seat, Grif could see that he was tempted by the offer.

Too bad he'd have to ruin the mood, "And then we'd fuck."

"Ugh," Simmons knocked his head back against the wall. "And you ruined it."

"You know you want it," he gives him a lecherous smile. "Look, you're already moanin-"

"You know what, I have a very important day tomorrow and am now going to turn this fucking lamp off and then the both of us will sleep," without waiting for a response he twists the rotary switch and removes all the light in the room.

Figuring that he got enough jabs in, he adjusts his position once more, turning on his side to face Simmons, announcing, "Night, Simmons."

There's no wait in the response of, "Goodnight, Grif."

Grif's always been good at sleeping- it'd been like the  _ only _ thing he was good at.

But that night he couldn't help but toss and turn, a growing feeling of being watched filtering into his dreams, to the point that he woke up at what must have been three, because he just couldn't take it anymore.

And when Grif wakes up, it's to the sight of a gun pointed at his face. 

And if that wasn't the shock of the century, it's the sight of  _ Temple _ behind it that shocks him the most.

"Wha-" he starts to say but stops at the feeling of cold metal against his forehead.

"If you speak," Temple starts to say, emphasizing his words with a hard press of the mouth of the gun. "I'll  _ shoot _ you."

Maybe if he'd been more lucid, and less tired, and if he hadn't  _ just _ woken up, maybe he'd be able to wrestle the gun out of the hands of the bastard. 

But as it stands he's in no physical state- at the  _ moment- _ to overpower the villain.

"Good," Temple remarks, satisfied with his compliance. "I'm going to make this simple."

With his free hand, he gestures over towards Simmons, saying, "If you try to yell or shout or  _ escape _ I'll kill him."

Glaring at the man, Grif wonders how he expects to make good on his threat with only one gun.

"I've planted a bomb in his bed," Temple answers, somehow able to read his disbelief. "In fact, I've planted bombs in every one of your friend's rooms."

The blood drains from his body, and his eyes widen, and he wants to call  _ bull- _ they would have noticed, fuck! Carolina and Wash would have noticed if there were bombs in their apartments.

"You don't believe me, I can see it in your eyes, but do you really want to bank on the off-chance that I'm  _ lying," _ Temple reaches behind his back and unclips a remote. "I've killed Freelancers  _ before. _ You idiots will be easy."

He waves the offending remote around, finger edging dangerously close to the button on it, and Grif figures that he's not fucking around.

"As I said," he puts it away. "Don't try anything funny and they'll all stay in one piece. Trust me when I say, I'd much rather prefer some of them alive. The Freelancers, I have no qualms on killing, but the others-"

The man cuts himself off, and clears his throat, "Well, that's not really important now, is it?"

Of course, Grif doesn't- can't- respond.

"Get up," Temple orders, moving the gun back so that he could do so.

Getting up out of the bed, he makes sure to glare with as much venom as his tired mind can handle.

"Don't give me that look," Temple says as he gestures with his gun towards the bedroom door. "We're just going for a walk."

A walk his ass. He doesn't know what game the Blue bastard was playing at, but Grif knew that it wouldn't lead to anything good.

And while he would feel much  _ safer _ being able to keep the man within eyesight, he's the one who has to lead the way out of the apartment as he winces at every nudge he's given with the gun. Temple's standing close- too close for comfort, in fact.

Grif's the one who opens the door and it's Temple that closes it silently behind him, only the barest sound of the lock clicking into place sounding out.

The apartment hallway is barren and stifling, the bright lights raising hell against his still adjusting eyes, but Temple doesn't give him time to gather himself- probably doing it on purpose to keep him as disorientated as long as possible- telling him to keep moving.

It's only when they've left the entire complex that Temple informs him that he can finally speak, so long as he doesn't shout.

And it's tempting, oh so tempting, but with the threat of bombs, he figures it's best to just do what he wants at the moment.

Maybe a police cruiser will pass by and see one of the literal  _ fucking heroes of Chorus being held captive. _ But with the knowledge that  _ Bitters _ managed to get on the force, he doesn't have much hope for that happening.

So he's pretty much screwed unless he can figure out how to get the remote away from Temple whilst managing to avoid getting  _ shot. _

Yep, as he said,  _ screwed. _

"Where are you taking me," he asks, voice low as he glances back at the man.

"You'll see," Temple answers vaguely. "Just follow my directions and your  _ friends _ will be fine. Make a left here."

And that's how most of the night- well, morning, probably he hasn't looked at a clock yet, but it's still dark out.

But there's one thing that won't leave his mind, just one singular question-

"How'd you even get out of jail?" Grif can't help but ask.

"Oh, it's surprising what type of exceptions can be made for someone who's  _ so _ 'cooperative' and 'well-adjusted' compared to the other prisoners," Temple smirked before it quickly transformed into a scowl. "I was  _ hoping _ to get out on parole, but it turns out that when you have a  _ death sentence _ that can't really let you go. But otherwise? It was easy to escape."

"And now you're here on Chorus," and with the frighteningly confident way that Temple was directing him around, he wonders if the man has ever been on the planet prior to this day. Not even Grif can recognize some of the landmarks around them, "harassing me, and leading me  _ somewhere _ probably so you can shoot me."

"I'm not going to shoot you," Temple reassures. "Don't even think I could even if I tried, and well, you've seen me try before."

For Temple, it wouldn't have been that long ago, but for Grif, it's been about a year plus some- except not, because time travel was a bitch like that.

He doesn't really have any more questions for the man, just a growing sense of anticipation and suspense because really, the villain hasn't even alluded to his ulterior plans.

But they keep walking further and further into the country, leaving behind New Armonia in the distance.

Grif's already tired, but now his exhaustion is coupled with the aching pain in his legs. It's not as bad as it would have been had he not made that trek to England from Italy, but still, it's a pain in the fucking ass.

"We're here," Temple announces, moving away from his position behind him, keeping the gun trained on him at all times.

'Here' being an open space with a giant ass mountain of dirt and a hole- the likely originator of the mounds- and nothing else.

The twisted part of Grif's brain supplies that this would be the perfect place for a murder, and fuck, Temple's already dug a grave for him.

"Get in," Temple commands, ushering him closer to the hole.

But as he gets closer, he sees that there's actually something  _ in _ the hole. A giant- but not all that big, just relatively it's giant- box with only one hatch on the visible side.

"You want me to get in  _ that," _ he's confused and a little bit horrified, and considering he's looking at his own coffin he feels it's justified.

"You will get in that, or else your friends get blown to smithereens, so once again,  _ get in," _ Temple growls. 

Grif's last words to Simmons were 'goodnight'- that's what he's thinking about as he gets into the box, lowering himself into it and cursing as his head bangs into the top of it. It's narrow and not really big enough for him to stand up properly, so he settles for sitting down.

Goodnight. That's close enough to goodbye, right? So why does he feel guilty about the way that he had playfully teased Simmons earlier? Why does he wish that instead, he had told him he loved him sincerely just once more before he concluded with that faithful good night?

The crack of bullets being fired into the air jolts him out of his thoughts, his heart pounding as his mind jumps to that Temple must have shot him after all, completed the job-

But he's not bleeding and he's still breathing, and the click of an empty gun follows after. 

And then baffling enough, Temple lowers himself into the box as well, swinging the hatch close, practically on top of Grif with how small the container was.

Grif's freaking out- he's never considered himself claustrophobic before, but with how tightly packed they are, he can't help his panicked, "What the hell are you doing?!"

Temple doesn't answer him, instead, he says, "You should get some rest."

But how is he supposed to rest when face to face with a fucking maniac. His heart is pounding, but he's tired from being woken up and from having to walk, so he tries his damn hardest to stay awake but he just can't.

The next time he's waking up abruptly, it's to the sound and feeling of rumbling.

Grif feels light-headed, and he's seeing stars, but he still tries to ask, "What... what's..."

He can't even finish the question as his pounds, and he strains to hear just what the fuck is going on.

It- it sounds like a machine, and suddenly there's a thump on the top of the container, and it just continues and continues-

It... it almost sounds like-

"Do you hear that," Temple's breath is hot on his neck, his voice a hoarse whisper. "That's the sound of your friend  _ burying you alive." _

**Author's Note:**

> This was very heavily inspired by this internet thread-turned-short story I read along time ago called Pen Pals, and it still fucks me up in the mind every time I think about it. Gosh, it's just so horrifying, since the horror comes less from some sort of supernatural entity, but an increasing uneasiness as you read further along. I'd suggest giving it a read, it's not too long. Preferably read it at night, it fucks with your mind more that way.
> 
> If you'd like to stop on by and chat, you can contact me at either of my Tumblr's: @agent-murica (main) and @amateurscribes (writing).


End file.
